


Natural Disaster

by calaofnoldor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Constipation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Frustrated Sam Winchester, Gun Violence, Implied Smut, Jealous Dean Winchester, Possessive Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calaofnoldor/pseuds/calaofnoldor
Summary: You've always known you and Dean were a ticking time bomb, but you figured it'd be something supernatural that led to your ultimate demise.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> also available over on the [tumbs](https://calaofnoldor.tumblr.com/post/639255698741542912/natural-disaster-masterlist) :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean infiltrate a black-tie event for a hunt, but the evening takes an unexpected turn when it's thwarted by a non-supernatural threat.

“Babe?” you pop your head through a crack of the bathroom door, scanning the lavish hotel room for your boyfriend and date of the evening.

“Dean’s not here, something you need?” Sam appears on your right.

“Oh, um… well if you don’t mind, I just need help zipping up my dress.” You open the door a little more to show Sam your predicament, holding the front of your gown up with one hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he nods, getting behind you to pull the zipper closed.

“Wow, Y/N…” Sam breathes out before you can thank him. You look up to find your best friend eyeing you in the mirror with awe. “Dean’s gonna lose his shit when he sees you.”

“You think so?”

A little snort escapes his lips, “Trust me, I know my brother.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to go with something shorter so I could actually move around in it, but your _brother_ insisted on this one because he thought it’d be better at hiding my knife… At least there’s a slit down the side, I guess,” you ponder aloud whilst pulling on the silky fabric by your thigh to expose more of your right leg.

“Yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing,” Sam counters, his brows raised in an expression of amusement.

But that doesn’t put an end to your rant, “OK, but what am I supposed to do in this? I mean, I can barely walk in those heels to begin with. What if something goes wrong? What if we have to fight?”

As usual, Sam’s reassuring smile puts you at ease, “Don’t worry, Dean won’t let anything happen to you.”

You release a quiet laugh through your nose and meet Sam’s gaze with a small, earnest smile, “Yeah, I know.”

Half an hour later, you step out of the bathroom with a fresh pout on your face, “Ugh, how do some people do this all the time? It’s not even funny how much time it takes just to make yourself presentable- I’m so glad I missed prom because of that ghost,” you grumble to yourself, eyes downcast as you work on balancing in your strappy four-inch heels.

“Well, you clean up real nice either way… Don’t ya think, Dean?” Sam nudges his brother in the side with a lopsided grin.

Unaware of his return until just now, your head snaps up at the sound of Dean’s name. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, you stand frozen, staring at your boyfriend like a deer in headlights for two reasons: first, you’ve been incredibly nervous about Dean seeing you like this for the first time, all dressed up and made up and perfectly feminine and just very un- _you_ ; and second, the man looks bloody magnificent in his tux, with his hair combed back and his five o’clock shadow and his stupidly beautiful face and boy are you happy you’d decided to splurge on that expensive tailor – the three-piece suit fits him exquisitely, enhancing your favorite features and reducing you to a practically drooling mess, basking in all of his broad-shouldered, bow-legged glory.

“So um, are either of you guys gonna say something?” Sam breaks the silence from his new reclined position on one of the king-sized beds, looking like he could go for some popcorn.

You and Dean both take a deep breath, but it’s him who gets the first word, “Y-yowza.”

Well that sure bursts your reverie, “Yowza? Really?” Off to the side, you can hear Sam snickering, uttering something along the lines of ‘I told you, didn’t I?’, but Dean’s enamored gaze never leaves yours.

“No, I mean… _hot damn_ … I am one lucky son of a bitch,” he gives his head a little shake as his eyes rake over your form once more, rampant tongue darting out to lick his lips subconsciously.

Nevertheless, your insecurity takes over for a minute, “Really? It’s not too much? It’s not too… weird?”

“What- no, are you shitting me?! Y/N, you are so fucking gorgeous. Not that you aren’t every other day, but this… this is _stunning_ , and it just… brings out another side of you. And baby, I love every side of you.”

At some point during Dean’s speech, Sam had wisely elected to leave the room, for which you’re feeling quite grateful since you and Dean aren’t normally this mushy and it’s making your cheeks burn.

It takes another moment of staring speechlessly at the impeccable specimen that is (somehow) your boyfriend before you’re able to respond, “Fuck, you look _really_ good right now. I mean, I love you too, but seriously- Yowza.”

Dean looks down at himself and then back up at you with a handsome smirk, “Yeah?”

You bob your head up and down helplessly in a continuous nod, “So damn fine,” your voice is breathy as you begin to towards him, “We’d be making out right now if it wasn’t for all this makeup.”

“Dammit!” Dean curses under his breath as he meets you in the middle, his large, warm hands automatically finding your waist, “I swear to god, when I get you back here…” he growls, leaving the promise open-ended while one of his palms moves up to cup the back of your neck, “Are you sure I can’t kiss you?”

Though your own restraint is waning, you manage to hold out by keeping your lips busy, “At the behest of a youtube tutorial, I’m wearing like five different lip products. I don’t want you to get lead poisoning. Also, I’m pretty sure I spent eight days in that bathroom to achieve this. I dunno, I think time works differently in there; it’s like hell or something.”

“Hmm, is there makeup here?” Dean nuzzles at your throat with his nose, and you shake your head no, gasping when he responds with an open-mouthed kiss along your neck.

“Dean,” you whine pathetically as he begins to suck at your skin, licking and nibbling lightly at your pulse point. “Babe, stop! You’re gonna leave a mark.”

“Mm, that’s kinda the point,” he mumbles against you, “S’not my fault you look so damn good in that dress. I gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine tonight.”

Pushing him away, you can’t restrain the giggle that falls from your lips, “You’re such a dork. Come on, we gotta go,” you grab Dean’s hand and turn around to pull him towards the door, but before you get very far, you hear him groan low in his throat.

“Son of a bitch, the back of that dress might actually be worse.”

This prompts another laugh from you, and your smile is still bright when you find Sam in the hallway.

The younger Winchester looks up from his phone and pushes himself off the wall, pulling his sturgeon face as he spots the two of you. “What? No smudged lipstick or sex hair? I’m impressed.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” you and Dean reply seamlessly in chorus.

Sam chuckles as he asks, “So you guys ready? Do we need to go over the plan?”

“Nah, we got this. Just stay close and text us when you’re in,” Dean gives your hand a little tug, keeping you close to his body as the three of you make your way toward the hotel elevator. You’re feeling a bit stiff in your current attire but having the brothers, and particularly Dean, nearby helps keep you grounded.

“I’m glad we decided to splurge on a hotel room; it would’ve been real awkward to step out of a curb-side motel in this,” you mutter as you walk out of the elevator and into the extravagant lobby, only to receive looks and double-takes from many of its occupants.

“Yeah, but my girl would’ve pulled it off,” Dean’s words are slightly muffled by his lips upon your hair, but they still impel an upward twitch at the corner of your mouth.

* * *

When you arrive at the venue of the charity ball however, that feeling of incongruity returns. The building, which is really an old mansion (although you can’t imagine anyone actually living in it), is ornately decorated, with massive chandeliers adorning its high vaulted ceilings and gaudy crystal centerpieces filled with white roses sitting atop each table. The shiny marble floors are waxed to perfection and there’s a magnificent grand staircase in the center of the room that looks like it’s wide enough to fit Baby.

This annual black-tie event is essentially an excuse for the ultra rich to throw a fancy-ass party in the name of philanthropy. The thought alone makes your eyes roll and rouses an inelegant snort from your cakehole. But while you feel a certain level of disdain for the participants of these types of affairs, as a hunter who more or less lives in your trusty combination of jeans and a flannel, you can’t help but feel terribly out of place and somewhat jittery in this environment.

“I feel so ridiculous…” you whisper over to Dean, who hasn’t let go of your hand once since you got through the security check, “I could get used to the extra height though.”

Dean gives your hand a firm but gentle squeeze and a look with his eyes that says ‘I got you’, which has your nerves settling down instantly. “Trust me, you look better than all of them combined,” his plush lips land on your temple and everything comes back to focus.

The two of you are here to retrieve what you believe to be a cursed object, in hopes that you can find a way to destroy it later. When you first learned of its existence, you figured this ball would be an ideal chance to get inside the highly secured manor, but you could only get a hold of two tickets in your last-minute haste. Though you had offered yours to Sam, he and Dean didn’t seem particularly fond of the idea of going together, something about avoiding speculation.

And so, Sam’s been relegated to computer nerd duty, as Dean likes to call it. Since the gem you’re here for is locked in a safe on the upper floor, and there is no way for you to use the restricted main staircase without being detected, you’ve devised a plan for Sam to hack into the security camera of the east end stairwell so that you and Dean can climb up and back down unobtrusively.

“Champagne, miss?” A well-groomed waiter materializes before you, carrying a tray of very appealing fizzy beverages.

“Ooh, yes please. Thank you. Dean, you want one?”

When there’s no response, you look over your shoulder to find Dean with his chest puffed up, tight brows and tighter jaw, glowering unabashedly at some fixed point on the horizon. “Dean?” Following his line of vision, you’re met with the sight of, in some roundabout way, a man who seems to be openly staring directly at you.

Smirking internally, you turn back to the waiter, “You know what, I’ll just grab one for him too.”

The waiter nods as you take another glass from his tray, and after noticing the look on your boyfriend’s face along with his imposing form, scurries away with wide eyes. 

You chuckle to yourself and take a sip of your drink, nudging Dean with your elbow.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks,” he takes the untouched glass from you and downs it while snaking his other arm around your waist to pull you in close, angling his body so that it conceals most of yours from your admirer’s wandering eyes, yet still allows him to keep up his glaring.

Before you got together, you never expected Dean Winchester to be the possessive type, especially considering he used to flirt with anything that moved, but ever since you’ve discovered this side of him, you can’t help but find it awfully adorable (and often times outrageously hot if you’re being honest), despite the incessant ringing of feminist alarm bells in your head.

At the end of the day however, you know why he does it: as people who have never truly had someone the way you have each other, you’re both struck by the urge to hold on tight, constantly aware of the fact that the other may disappear at the drop of a hat, without any warning. So a little possessive or protective behavior is only natural. Either way, it can be quite entertaining.

“Are you done?” you ask lowly, the amusement evident in your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe.” Dean replies innocently.

“Right, well you’ve successfully scared off the waiter so-“ you’re interrupted by the sound of both your phones going off. It’s a text from Sam.

**_Sam: I’m in. You’ve got 20min._ **

“Looks like it’s go time.” Dean waits for you to finish the rest of your champagne before he takes it and sets both your empty flutes down on a random table.

Glancing over, you note that the entrance to the stairway is completely unguarded at the moment. Perfect. So the only thing you need to worry about is picking the lock discretely.

“How are we gonna play this?” you question under your breath.

“Don’t worry, I got an idea.”

You raise a brow at him, but Dean simply places a strong hand on the small of your back and begins to guide you towards the door, “After you, m’lady.”

When you reach your destination, a subtle sweep of your surroundings leaves you satisfied that no one seems to be paying you and Dean much attention, so you casually pull out a pin from your hair and bend over slightly to undo the lock. Meanwhile, Dean hovers over you from behind to hide your ploy from any potential onlookers.

As you’re working on the door, he slowly moves so that he’s pressed up real close to your backside as his wayward hands start to slide up and down your side, rough fingertips eventually catching at the slit of your dress and gently kneading your upper thigh while his warm breath fans across your neck.

“Dean, you gotta stop doing that. I can’t focus.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t been able to focus all night because of you, so consider it payback.”

Your heart rate picks up, but you ignore his exploring fingers as best you can, discharging a relieved breath when you finally manage to unlock the door. After another inconspicuous glimpse around you, the two of you slither through.

“Fuck me,” you mumble when you see the lengthy set of stairs that awaits you on the other side and remember your current footwear.

“Not right now, sweetheart,” Dean responds smoothly, earning him a roll of your eyes, “We’ve got a very important mission to accomplish first. Come on, Wobbly,” he jokes as he extends a hand to you.

You narrow your eyes at him, offended by the rude nickname, but take his hand nonetheless.

About three-quarters of the way up the stairs, your shoes betray you, causing you to stumble slightly, nearly missing your step, “Ugh, I hate these shoes.”

“S’alright baby, I got you,” Dean switches the hand that’s holding yours so he can use his other to wrap around your waist and help you the rest of the way up.

He only relinquishes his hold when you reach the very top and you’re faced with another door. “So there’s no more cameras up here, right?” Dean looks back at you with one hand on the handle.

“No, just security guards, but usually none in this corner,” you answer.

* * *

The two of you make it to the room containing the safe without any incident. It’s a large office with two full walls lined with books, a fireplace in one corner, rustic leather furniture throughout, and a lofty mahogany desk in the center, directly upon which is a rectangular metal box. Bingo.

“Well that was easy,” Dean shoots you a boyish grin.

“Guess they figured no one would make it this far?... Or that no one knew about it…”

Your boyfriend goes to examine the safe more closely while you stay near the door, keeping your ears peeled for any activity within the halls.

“OK, yeah I think I can work this out without Sam,” Dean comments after a moment.

“Really?” you tease.

Dean lifts his gaze to throw you an incredulous look across the room, “Whose girlfriend are you?” But you only giggle in reply and he huffs, returning to the task at hand, “You got your knife on you?”

“Obviously,” you retort instantly before hiking up your dress. You walk over to him and place one high-heeled foot on a chair in front of the desk so that you can access your inner thigh holster through the slit in your gown.

“Good lord, woman! Are you trying to kill me?!”

Glancing up, you send him a wink paired with a devilish grin before tossing him the ceramic blade (it was the only weapon you could get through security).

After a few minutes of watching Dean tinker away, his gorgeous features aligned in a hard mask of focus, your attention is suddenly drawn away by the sound of distant footsteps, which upon further inspection seem to be heading through the hallway in your direction.

“Shit, I think I hear something,” you whisper with your ear pressed against the door, “Are you almost done?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean utters through his teeth around your knife, both hands busy working on the door of the safe and green eyes alight with the anticipation that comes from being on the cusp of succeeding at a difficult task. It’s a surprisingly attractive scene but unfortunately, you don’t have time to enjoy it any longer.

“OK, you finish up. I’ll go create a distraction,” you force yourself to tear your eyes away from him before sauntering out into the hall.

Almost immediately, you run into a burly security guard, “Woah, ma’am, you can’t be up here.”

“Oh, really?” you play oblivious, raising the pitch of your voice and fixing him your best doe eyes, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“All the stairwells are sealed; how did you even get up here?” he surveys you suspiciously.

“Well, I just found out my husband’s cheating on me so I’m kind of a total mess right now.” Lying is a huge part of your job description so it’s a good thing you’re pretty good at it.

The man considers you for a moment, looking you up and down, “Alright, well let me escort you back down then.”

At this point, Dean has successfully obtained the cursed gem and is peeking out at you with one eye through the tiniest opening of the office door. He almost growls when he sees the guy loop an arm around your waist to spin you around and then keep his hand on your back to guide you down the grand staircase.

You’re also about to protest his touch but figure you’ll allow it if it means letting Dean get back downstairs in time without further issue.

“Thank you, sir,” you smile at him when you reach the bottom and he unlatches the velvet rope barrier for you, his hand never leaving your back.

“You know, if you’re looking for a good way to thank me…” the security guard leans in close to you, his fingertips curling into your waist while his lips graze the shell of your ear, and he lets his lewd tone do the rest of the talking.

“Woah, you need to back the fuck off,” you use both hands to firmly push him away. He must not have expected you to react that way for he instantly obeys, raising both hands in the air, and looking at you with an expression of shock. You assume he doesn’t want to cause a scene or risk losing his job, so you let him off relatively easy, “Thank you. And just so you know, ‘my husband is cheating on me’ is not an invitation for you to hit on me.”

Strutting away briskly, you’re grateful to find that no one seems to have noticed your little frenzy, too immersed in the hustle and bustle of preparing for dinner time. Now you just have to wait for Dean. You’re hoping that the distraction you caused was enough to let him finish the job and slink away unnoticed, able to make his way back down the east stairwell while Sam was still replacing its camera footage with a bogus static feed.

* * *

Several minutes pass and you’re still waiting for Dean. He should definitely be downstairs by now, so you start sifting through the crowds for his distinctively handsome mug. But then something unexpected happens.

A faint gunshot rings through the air, and Dean is immediately on the prowl for you, whipping his head this way and that. He’s just made it back down with the gem and your knife tucked securely in his pocket, and he hasn’t been able to locate you through the sea of people yet. When he finally spots you with your back to him, he can tell by your shoulders that you’re also alert. As he walks towards you, he scans the area for any signs of danger, “Y/N!”

You whirl around on your heel, almost losing your balance in those godforsaken shoes, and begin pushing your way through the masses once you see Dean stalking towards you.

The two of you collide near the center of the room, Dean’s broad hand coming to rest instinctively on your hip. “You okay?” His eyes are wide with concern and his voice has that low, gravelly tone which is urgent yet also filled with unequivocal warmth and laced with an innate, gentle protectiveness that always brings a flutter to your heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you question back straight away, reaching up to run a thumb across his stubble.

He nods but his head is on a swivel, keen eyes still hunting for the source of unrest. After quickly checking him over with your own eyes, you join Dean’s quest.

“What the hell was that?” you wonder aloud, tilting your head to look beyond Dean for some answers.

“I don’t know, but I say we-“ Dean stops himself short when out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a threat that is completely un-supernatural yet decidedly no less horrifying, “Shit!” His hunter reflexes kick into full gear as he grabs the back of your head with one hand while wrapping his other arm around your waist, before effectively pouncing on you.

Almost simultaneously, a gunshot resonates in your ears, this time much closer in proximity. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re pinned to the ground, a large portion of Dean’s weight holding you down.

His hands had cushioned the impact of your fall, though he let out a grunt with the sudden exertion. You’re about to ask if he’s alright, when another gunshot pierces the air.

Chaos erupts around you, and people seem to be scrambling in random directions. There are shouts of terror and bewilderment, high pitched screams that carry no meaning. A general clamor and more gunshots ring through the air.

You turn to your boyfriend who is still lying on top of you, your eyes wide with fear and confusion, but the million questions running through your head don’t come out.

“Come on, we’re getting outta here,” Dean’s voice is rigid and his eyes are searching for the best exit route. He pulls you to your feet along with himself, hand now grasping yours resolutely, and the two of you make a run for it. You follow Dean’s lead, zig-zagging through the throngs of panicked guests, your hand still fully encased by his.

There’s a barricade of people trying to get out the front door, so Dean pivots and pulls you in front of him, his other hand guiding you by your waist. Glad to have scoped the place out before arriving, you run toward the west side exit instead with Dean close behind, both your hands never letting go.

But you stumble to a halt when you’re suddenly faced with a heavily armed man blocking the door, dressed in black from head to toe, his face obscured by a ski mask. You curse the lack of weapons on you, your ceramic knife seeming to be of very little use now, against this guy’s semi-automatic rifle.

While you consider retreating, it occurs to you that it might be more dangerous to turn your back on a gun like that. The assailant tugs his ski mask off and his mouth curls into a vicious snarl, “Well isn’t this just my luck? It’s the pretty ones I hate most.”

You’re about to respond but before you can react, Dean is somehow jumping in front of you.

“NO!” His hands reach for your shoulders as his body revolves to shield yours.

Time seems to recede, and it’s in slow motion that you watch Dean’s body jolt as a bullet enters his back.

“NO!” This time it’s your voice that slices through the air, but the shout of protest gets lost in the commotion. And its too late anyway.

Everything fades away. There’s only Dean, standing in front of you. Your eyes lock and he sends you the minutest of smiles, just a twitch of his lips, really, before his knees give out.

He collapses to the ground, but your arms around him slow the fall.

“Dean,” you breathe, “No. No, no, no. Please. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay,” you try to reassure, but his eyelids are already drooping.

Your brain enters crisis mode and your hunter senses kick in. You take a moment to assess the situation. Your attacker is gone but there are still guns going off, though you can hear sirens now as well. Laying Dean down carefully, you cower to the floor with him, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You smear the blood on your hands and arms across your face and body, then turn your attention fully to Dean.

Ugh, where’s a flannel when you need one? Why did you have to be dressed to the nines at a time like this? You look around frantically and finally spot an empty table not far from where you are. Staying in a low, squatted position, you run over and yank the tablecloth off before sprinting back to Dean.

Scrunching up the cloth in your hands, you use it to apply pressure to the wound, keeping both palms pressed firmly on top. You lean further into Dean, using your body to keep him warm and at the same time increase the pressure.

“Dean? Baby?” you whisper timidly.

He grumbles quietly in reply.

“Hey, I need you to stay with me, OK? Keep your eyes open, baby. Keep them on me, alright?” your words draw his eyes toward your face, and you give him the best watery smile you can muster.

You decide to keep talking, anything to keep him awake, “You better not die on me, Dean Winchester. I know you Winchesters don’t stay dead for long, but you know I’d do a horrible job of taking care of Baby. Besides, Sam and Cas would be a mess-“

Wait. Cas. Why hadn’t you thought of the angel earlier? Quickly, you close your eyes and focus all your thoughts, as hard as you can, into one coherent message, “Cas, I need your help. Please. Dean’s hurt and he’s losing a lot of blood, so _please_ get your feathery ass down here. Please, Cas. I’m begging you.”

But the angel is a no-show. And where the hell are the paramedics? Why aren’t they in here yet? Or have they just not gotten around to you yet?

That’s it. You can’t just stay here on the floor, waiting for help to arrive. You need to go get help. But you can’t leave Dean. There’s just no way in hell that’s happening. You need to keep pressure on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, so you’re left with only one other option. Slipping a hand out from underneath you, you fumble around for your clutch. Once you grab it, you clumsily attempt to undo the clasp with one hand, wincing at the time you’re wasting and the uncontrollable shaking of your hand.

When you finally get the damned thing open, a sigh of relief passes through you and despite your fumbling fingers, you’re dialing Sam in no time.

“Y/N? Where the hell are you? What’s happening? I can’t get in. They’ve blocked all the entrances and-”

“Sam! I need your help! Dean’s been shot. I’m keeping pressure on the wound, but he needs to get to a hospital- soon! We’re on the main floor, near the west side entrance. Please send help. Hurry! Please, Sam. I can’t… I can’t lose him.” Your voice loses its strength until the last sentence is merely a whisper, but Sam hears all of your pleas.

“OK, just stay where you are, Y/N. Don’t move him. I’m sending help, OK?”

You thank the heavens for Sam’s ability to remain calm during times of disaster and place the phone back on the ground next to you, pressing the speakerphone button before you return your hand to its place above the other on Dean’s stomach.

“Sam’s gonna get help. You’re gonna be OK, I promise,” you go back to reassuring Dean.

The gunshots have stopped and things seem to be a little less disordered around you, although you haven’t noticed much of anything since Dean took that bullet. Sam seems to be saying something on the other end of the line but you take no notice.

“Please, baby,” you murmur across Dean’s jaw, “Please don’t leave me. Not like this… It can’t be like this.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open, and his dry lips part a little. He seems to be trying to say something. “Y-Y/N,” he croaks.

“Shhh, don’t. It’s gonna be OK, just save your energy.”

Before he can counter, a tap on your shoulder alerts you of the paramedic’s arrival. Finally.

“Oh, thank god. Please, you have to help him. He’s been shot. There’s an exit wound on his side. I think the bullet went in through his back. I’ve been trying to stop the bleeding. Please, just save him. Please,” you beg, never alleviating the pressure on Dean’s wound.

“Alright, ma’am. We’re gonna need you to move aside.” A male paramedic replaces your hands on the bloodied tablecloth pressed against Dean, while another comes to check you over.

“I’m fine, really. Just take care of _him_!” You run your distraught and bloody hands through your hair, not sure what to do with them now that they are no longer helping to keep the love of your life alive. You watch, in a blur, as they load him on to a stretcher and push him out to the waiting ambulance. Following as closely as you can, your steps are interceded by Sam, who’s suddenly in front of you, grabbing your shoulders.

“Y/N! Are you OK? Are you hurt at all?” Sam is startled by your bloody appearance and searching your body for any signs of injuries.

“I’m fine. I’ve gotta go with Dean.” You escape from his grip and brush past him with surprising strength, rushing to catch up to Dean’s side.

“I’m riding with you,” you say as you jump into the ambulance, leaving no room for argument.

One of the paramedics nods and gives you a seat next to Dean. You take it gratefully and grab Dean’s hand, interlocking your fingers tightly before you kiss his knuckles with desperate reverence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to Chapter 1 in which you deal (poorly) with the emotional aftermath of the shooting.

“Sam, he took a _bullet_ for me,” you state incredulously, staring at your best friend with wide, unblinking eyes, as if to help convey the gravity of your dilemma.

“And? Y/N, you and I both know he would sell his soul for you if he needed to. He loves you,” Sam tries to reason with you, though his words only seem to amplify your exasperation.

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?! Sam, you of all people should know how much being in that position sucks! Contrary to popular belief, you don’t get warm and fuzzy feelings when someone sells their soul for you!”

“Whoa, Y/N, I know!” The younger Winchester raises both hands in the air in a placating manner, “Trust me, I know. But Dean hasn’t sold his soul for you, right? It was a bullet and that’s very different.” His tone is cautious and soothing, but these thoughts have been eating at you for almost a month now.

“How? He still sacrificed his life for mine. If he had died, it would’ve been worse than selling his soul, because he wouldn’t even get a year!”

“So,” Sam starts again, navigating your flustered aura carefully, “You’re _mad_ at him for what he did?”

“Yes! No! I mean, I don’t know!?” you shout in frustration, “I’m mad, yes, but I’m not completely ungrateful…” you admit sheepishly, considering it for a moment as you tilt your head to the side, “Well…”

“OK, stop,” Sam brings your train of thought to a halt, knowing how capricious and crass you can become when discussing matters of the heart. “I get it. It was a traumatic event, and no one saw it coming. It’s normal to feel confused. You were scared in the moment, but now that he’s fine, you’re starting to feel anger and other seemingly conflicting emotions. Y/N, these are all completely natural responses when someone you love goes through a near-death experience… but what I still don't understand is why you've been avoiding him like the plague." Sam’s compassionate and questioning gaze searches yours for the answers he’s come for, but he knows it won’t be that easy. None of this has been easy. Sam had to pick your lock earlier just so he could sit here on the edge of your unmade bed and force you to talk to him.

But now you don’t know where to begin. Your lungs release a broken sigh as your eyes look toward the grey cement floor and your feet stop their pacing of the tiny room, the room you used to call your own before you moved into Dean’s. It’s where you’ve been staying ever since you got back to the bunker. At first, you had claimed your distance was imposed to avoid accidentally aggravating Dean’s wound and thereby delaying his recovery (your reputation as a somewhat rowdy sleeper helped corroborate your case), but after Cas had finally dropped by and healed him, you could no longer explain your absence and evasion, especially as the weeks wore on.

The truth is you aren’t sure how to explain it yourself. It had felt as if the experience of watching Dean get shot and nearly bleed out in your arms, only to later code on an operating table had dredged up every emotion within the human spectrum, and then some. And you simply don’t know how to process any of it…

_“Ma’am, you need to back up-“_

_“And you need to do your fucking job!” you roar at the innocent woman in scrubs, your torso heavily inclined forward, as if you’re ready for a fight._

_“Hey, hey! It’s OK! They’re just trying to help him, alright?” Sam’s voice is suddenly in your ear as he holds you back with a gentle yet firm grip. Sending a somewhat pained and apologetic smile to the victimized nurse, Sam graciously appeals, “Can you please tell us what’s happening?”_

_“He needs surgery right away-“_

_“So what’s the hold up?” you demand, trying to shrug your way out of Sam’s strong arms._

_“They’re prepping the OR right now, but I’m afraid he’s not the only one coming in with a gunshot wound. There’s a system in place to prioritize-“_

_“Do you not see him bleeding out on the bed right there?!” The sheer volume of your voice startles quite a few passersby and behind you, Sam is once again left with the task of damage control, offering awkward conciliatory glances to everyone in the surrounding area._

_“Look, I understand your concern, but I have to go.” After pausing to check the pager clipped to her waistband, the nurse meets your eyes with an earnest gaze, “Just know that we’re doing everything we can, and please just wait outside for now.”_

_Something between a scoff and a sigh passes your lips, and every particle within you seems to be vibrating at a breakneck frequency. As the nurse walks briskly away, you are finally able to break free from Sam’s hold, pulling at your thoroughly dishevelled hair with shaking, blood-reddened hands. Unable to arrest the violent energy coursing through your body, you dismiss the array of chairs behind you in favor of treading circles across the limited range of hallway in front of the room in which Dean lies._

_Time passes at an incomprehensible rate and even after Dean is wheeled into surgery, your nerves and heartbeat refuse to settle. The tension builds inside you until it forcefully snaps._

_“Cas, where the fuck are you?!” you bellow hysterically up at the hospital ceiling as unshed tears start to blur your vision. At this point, you don’t care if the hospital staff questions your sanity. You don’t care if the bloody angel pops up unannounced and scares the life out of everyone around you. You know you’re being selfish, but there is only one thought in your head right now: Dean cannot die. He just can’t. He can’t fucking die and certainly not like this. He has to pull through and nothing else matters._

_“Y/N, hey! You need to calm down,” Sam appears before you, stilling your frantic movements with large hands on both your shoulders as his eyes drill holes through yours with their utter intensity, “Look, I know it’s a close call, but this is Dean we’re talking about, right? You and I both know how strong he is, what he’s been through, what he’s capable of. You really think he’s gonna let this take him down?”_

_You inhale a stuttering breath before revealing what might just become the greatest regret of your life, “Sam, he’s in there because of me.” At this, the tears finally rain down without reserve._

_“That’s not true. He’s in there because some assholes with guns and a self-righteous agenda decided to play God.”_

_The salt storm falters and a crease emerges between your brows, but Sam sighs and hesitates for a moment, not sure how you’ll handle the new information. “Y/N, the news just broke. The mass shooting was organized by a group of extreme anti-elitists who’d been planning it for months. They figured everyone attending the event was some nefarious and corrupted member of the socioeconomic top one percent, whom they believed deserve to die.”_

_Suddenly, all you see is red. “Well, they were wrong,” you seethe, your voice acquiring an alarmingly vicious inflection, one that you had never known it to be capable of before._

_“I know, but-“_

_Sam’s words are cut off by an urgent, disembodied voice. “Code blue in OR number five!”_

_And just like that, your breathing immediately halts and your tone returns to a timid whisper, “OR five… that’s where they took Dean… Sam that’s…“_

_“Yeah, I think you’re right but- Whoa! Y/N!” Your knees had unceremoniously decided to buckle and if it hadn’t been for Sam’s sharpened reflexes, you’d have the hit the cold hospital floor._

_“Hey, it’s OK, I got you. Come on, let’s go sit down,” Sam guides you towards a couple of chairs in the waiting area and waits until you’re both seated to let go of your arms and cup your face instead. “Hey, listen to me. Dean loves you so fucking much. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you, and that includes fighting tooth and nail against every possible obstacle to get back to you… Trust me, I know my brother,” Sam offers you a slight smile as he echoes his words from earlier in the day when you were still getting ready for the goddamn charity ball, a time that seems like forever ago now._

_Though he continues to hold you close and murmur words of reassurance in your ears, the pounding of your heart eventually becomes too loud and eclipses the remainder of Sam’s speech._

_The next thing you know, you’re standing in the shower, staring blankly ahead at the tiled wall as the blood drizzles down from your hair and skin, filling the misty air with its stench before swirling away for eternity into the drain. Dean’s going to be fine, but you’re not sure if you will ever recover from tonight._

_The physical numbness leaves you with nothing but a mind full of crippling thoughts. How can something as simple as a man with a gun almost take out Dean Winchester? No monsters, no angels, no magic, just an angry guy with a misplaced vendetta, a completely natural foe that should have been hardly a threat at all to the expertly trained hunter… if only it wasn’t for you. You are the reason Dean had put his life in danger, the reason one of the most valiant saviors of the world had nearly left it. And for what? So that you could perhaps live on a bit longer? But who are you without Dean Winchester? And how could you be worthy of the sacrifice of one of the greatest men on earth?_

_The questions have no end, but of them all the most prominent voice in your head rings out: how could you have been so stupid? All this time you were worried about vampires and ghouls bestowing an untimely end upon the two of you and your relationship, but you never once considered the simpler dangers of the natural world, and of you yourself. Sure, you had known you would die for Dean without a flicker of a doubt and perhaps somewhere deep inside, you also knew he would do the same, but you never imagined it could turn out like this. This is disastrous._

* * *

So now you can’t sleep, because every time you try, you’re forced to relive the scariest night of your existence. And you can’t look at him, because every time you see his face, your brain pictures the miniscule smile he granted you in that fraction of a second, immediately after he got shot and directly before he toppled into your arms. That bewitching look in your favorite pair of eyes of placid acceptance, senseless adoration, and an eerie hint of contentment, as if he were somehow pleased with his decision and its outcome, will surely haunt you until the end of your days.

"Sam, it's not that simple,” you finally answer, “He nearly died because of me.”

"Yeah, but he's also still alive because of you,” Sam shoots back instantly, “The paramedics and doctors agreed that everything you did increased his chances of survival significantly."

"But I'm still the reason he got shot. I mean, what if after all this time, I'm the one who's poison? What if it's me who should stay away from him?" You think back to the early stages of your relationship, when Dean avoided making anything official in fear of inflicting a bigger threat to your life than that which already existed via your chosen line of work. In fact, it was such a struggle getting Dean to finally cave and agree to call you his while letting you call him yours in return, you’d decided to commemorate the event with an annual date night, which was extraordinarily out of character for the both of you (though to be fair, you usually ended up simply cuddling in the Dean cave, watching Old Westerns while drinking champagne from the bottle and making out like horny teenagers).

But now you’re wondering if that was all a mistake, if your love has somehow imparted a more grievous risk to Dean than you had ever deemed possible. Sam, clever as he is, seems to be capable of reading your mind.

“Just stop right there, alright?... Jesus, you and Dean are so fucking similar sometimes,” he begins with a small shake of his head, “You’re thinking your love puts him in danger, right? That it’s a _weakness_ , one you can’t afford in this world full of monsters and psycho humans, yeah? Well, you’re damn right it is. Because when you love someone, they become your weak spot. If you love ‘em, they can be used against you. If you love ‘em, you might lose them, and if it’s mutual, it works both ways, so that when one of you ultimately and inevitably leaves first, it’s gonna hurt like hell for the other.”

Sam takes your silence as a sign that he’s getting somewhere so he carries on, “It's the universal law of love, Y/N, and no one can escape it. That worry and fear and pain, that's just the price you pay for love. And the bigger the love, the higher the price. What you and Dean have, that's the kinda love people sing songs about, write stories about. But as long as you’re both alive, the risk of having it all taken away from you will always be there. So it’s your choice, whether you want to take the risk or bail out, but I can tell you from experience that the risk is worth it because it's a risk that pays off every time.”

His words hit you hard although you recognize the old, weathered truths in them, and any other time, you would have complimented his eloquent wisdom, but this isn’t any other time. “I know, and I knew that coming into this relationship, coming into this family,” you admit quietly with a trace of a smile that quickly disappears, “But Sam, it’s not just that. When I was in that hospital… waiting to find out whether he was gonna live or die… I thought I was gonna lose my fucking mind. I’ve never felt like that before, been like that before. And when you told me about the shooter, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill them all... I’ve never wanted to kill another human before, someone that wasn’t supernatural.”

Sam’s kind eyes are full of understanding, “You know not all evil comes in the form of monsters.”

“Yeah, but the way I wanted to hurt them for putting him in that gurney, in that OR. The things I wanted to do to them-“ you break yourself off with a scoff, “I scared myself, Sammy.”

The simple nod he gives you in response comes as a surprise, “Like I said, the way you and Dean love each other is special. It’s the monumental kind of love that changes you, makes you do crazy things, think crazy thoughts. That’s just what happens when you’re in love with someone to the extent that you are.”

Staring intently at anywhere but Sam, you take a deep breath. You’re awful with feelings. It’s something you and Dean have in common. ‘No chick flick moments’ was one of the first things you agreed upon when you first got together. The lack of love you received as a child might have had something to do with it, but you’d never learned how to express your emotions openly without feeling ridiculous. The thought of discussing anything even remotely touchy-feely makes you cringe, which is why you’re finding it so hard to open your mouth now.

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” you whisper after a beat of arduous deliberation, still skirting any possible eye contact, “The nightmares are awful; they make it so I can hardly look at him... But I can’t… lose him, I don’t know how… cause the truth is… I’ve never had anyone care about me as much as he does, and I’ve never had anyone take care of me the way he does either. It’s kinda terrifying…”

Sam’s lips curl up as he leans back a bit on the bed, supporting most of his weight on his arms behind him whilst fixing you with a knowing look, “I think it sounds like you already know the answer. But if it helps, I don’t think my brother’s ever had anyone care for him the way you do either. Y/N, Dean’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him when he’s with you. Seriously, it’s like everything about him gets lighter whenever you’re around. It’s honestly a bit sickening sometimes-“

“Oh, shut up, Sam,” you mumble with a budding grin, grateful for the comedic reprieve, which you’re aware Sam had intentionally designed to help relieve your discomfort by diverting away from the mushy talk.

He laughs and the sight of his dimples offer you even more relief, “Look, all I’m trying to say is that we're different people when we're loved the way we should be and when we learn to do the same in return… The way I see it, no one deserves a happy ending more than you and my brother.”

An irrepressible snort-laugh bursts out of your system, “Well, I'd argue that you'd be _very_ high up on the list of contenders. Oh and by the way, what you and Dean have, that's also the kinda love people write books about, make tv shows about even,” you remark with a smirk.

Sam shakes his head with pursed lips, but you can see the underlying mirth in his brilliant eyes, “You’re an idiot. Now stop avoiding your boyfriend. I can hear him in the kitchen; go talk to him.”

“Fine…” As you look back to him, a tidal wave of appreciation surges through your chest, so you try your best to swallow your innate yet irrational dread of emotional expositions, “Thanks for being you, Sam. I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess, especially when we were in the hospital. I should have considered how you were feeling. I know you must’ve been scared too and I’m sorry you had to put up a front for me.”

Sam’s smile is as warm as ever, “Don’t worry about it, Y/N/N, I know how he much he means to you. Besides, focusing on you helped me get through it too; those words weren’t just for your benefit. That and I knew Dean would’ve kicked my ass if I didn’t take care of you when he couldn’t. Now go!” he shoos you off with a wave of his big hand and you hesitantly comply with only a slight roll of your eyes, “Before he thinks you’re leaving him for good. That poor bastard’s been sulking around like a toddler for weeks now. Go put him out of his misery and yours too, for all of our sakes!”

Your eye roll intensifies as Sam begins to physically usher you out.

* * *

When you are gracelessly shoved into the kitchen shortly after, it’s to find Dean seated at the table with a cup of joe in one hand and his phone in the other, at which he’s staring down fixedly.

You wait for a second before clearing your throat to announce your presence more formally. 

Slowly, Dean drags his eyes away from the screen to glance timidly up at you, gulping as his gaze reaches yours. He had managed to ignore the thunderous and accelerated beating of his heart since he heard you approaching, but seeing you standing there before him now, looking so unsure of yourself, his pulse becomes a deafening throb that reaches his eardrums. In his mind, this is it. This is the day you finally decide to break his heart. At last, you’ve seen through all his false bravado and empty charm. Your relationship can be added to the extensive list of things he’s fucked up.

“I talked to your brother,” you begin quietly with a neutral tone.

“Oh no,” Dean jokes as he tries to read the atmosphere around you.

“And… he convinced me that we’re both poison,” you continue.

“That's not what I said!” Sam shouts vexedly from the war room, where he must be lingering to eavesdrop.

“Well maybe I'm paraphrasing, but the point is love is risky so I guess it’s a good thing I've always liked to live on the edge, yaknomsayin’?” The words stumble out messily on account of your sudden nerves and you grimace at yourself internally.

“Uhh no, I'm still not following…” Dean admits with an adorably confused look on his face.

“Alright, lemme try to put this in your terms.” You huff out a big breath, releasing your doubts and worries before you blatantly declare, “I'm in love with you, Dean Winchester. Like, big love. Like the way you love pie and Baby. And maybe even more.” You watch as Dean’s brows rise ever so slightly while the fine lines on his face seem to smooth themselves out and his plush lips part in surprise. “So when you took that bullet for me and almost became Death’s bitch, I was terrified. And I never wanted to feel that way again. Even after Cas healed you, all I could think about was ‘what if’. What if you'd died because of me? I couldn't live with that, with myself...” Sensing a rapid uprise of unruly emotions, you instinctively steer away from the maudlin discourse, “I mean, Sam would probably hate me for starters-”

“Also not what we talked about!” comes the exasperated, prying Winchester’s retort.

“Right. I guess what I’m trying to say is I got scared. Because of what you did for me. And how you seemed to do it with such little thought and absolute willingness and… _ridiculous_ speed- which, by the way- Dean Winchester is capable of incredible physical feats. You couldn't have pushed us both out of the way in the time it took you to jump in front of me? I mean, you're one of the deadliest hunters in the world and you let yourself get taken out by a regular, completely human gunman?!”

A tiny semblance of a smile appears across Dean’s handsome features, “Sweetheart, I don't think my brain was working in any kind of rational capacity in that moment. All I could think of was making sure he didn't hurt you.”

“No, see that's the thing, Dean! You weren't thinking!” You don’t want to turn this into a fight but the feelings rushing through you have been trapped for too long now they’re threatening to blow.

“Y/N, I will _never_ apologize for protecting you, for saving your life. You can't ask me to do that,” Dean states resolutely as he pushes himself to his feet, shaking his head vehemently.

Forcing a deep breath through your body, you attempt to calm yourself before speaking up again, “I know, and I'm not going to.”

“Good because- wait, really?”

“But I'm not gonna thank you either.” A wave of something unfamiliar seems to rouse within you.

“I never wanted you to,” he accedes with certainty and furrowed brows.

“I know.” Your voice is now a strained whisper and when you nod your head and swallow the lump in your throat, the tears spring out without warning. All of your deepest fears and supressed emotions come barrelling up to find an outlet of escape through your stupid tear ducts. “I thought I lost you and I can’t- I can’t l-lose you, Dean,” you sniffle through the wetness while trying unsuccessfully to stop the violent heaving of your chest. 

In a matter of two large strides, Dean steps around the table to pull you into his arms, “Hey, hey, shhh. It’s OK. I’m right here, aren’t I?” He rests his cheek against the top of your head as you breathe in the familiar scent of him through ragged pants, fisting desperately at his shirt until you can feel his heart beating beneath it. “I’m right here,” he repeats, eyes fluttering shut as he lands a kiss in your hair and runs a warm palm along the length of your spine.

The feeling of him safe and sound around you provides more comfort than you ever thought possible and you wonder why you didn’t just do this earlier. Tilting your head back to stare into his debilitatingly beautiful eyes, you notice that they no longer morph into the expression he had worn just before he fell to the ground with a bullet in his side. Instead, they shine back at you through delicate swirls of yearning mottled with shadows of sadness and doubt.

Before you can register your thoughts or grip the reins of your bodily impulses, you’re leaning back in to press your lips against his, both your hands still clutching to the fabric above his heart, reveling in the steady rhythm of it’s thumping against your palms while Dean wraps his arms around you tighter. There is nothing sexual about the kiss. It is purely an act of comfort and reassurance, arising from the urgent need to show him how much you’ve missed him and confirm that he really is still here with you.

“Thank god,” Dean breathes in a sigh of relief when the two of you finally pull apart, his shoulders slumping a little, “I thought you were gonna break up with me.”

“W-what?” you ask, feeling genuinely confused.

“Well you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder ever since we got back from the hospital. And then when you missed our anniversary night last week, I figured that was your way of giving me the boot.”

Your eyes widen in panic and you start to feel sick. Your anniversary was the one holiday you and Dean had agreed to never miss, ranking well above birthdays and Christmas. It was the only exception to your ‘no chick flick moments’ rule, the only tradition you kept amidst even the crappiest of times, and the only ritual you had ever held sacred. “Oh shit! That was last week, wasn’t it? _Fuck_. Baby, I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t mean to forget- really!” You back away slightly to continue your flustered rambling, “I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t know how to face you because every time I tried, I would just relive that fucking night and-“

“Hey, hey, hey, it's OK. Y/N, stop. C'mere,” Dean grabs your hands and draws you back toward him, retreating with you until he’s able to sit down on one of the stools and lean his back against the table. With your hands still inside of his, he guides you to climb onto his lap. As soon as you’re settled, your fingers immediately seek out his heartbeat once again, finding incomparable solace in the feeling of its strength, while you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. One of Dean’s broad hands smooths over your hair, cradling the back of your head as he plants a kiss to your temple, while his other arm keeps you steady with a firm grip around your waist.

“Sammy told me everything,” he murmurs into your hair, “What you did for me, how you were at the hospital. I know you love me, baby; it's the only thing that's been keeping me going these past few weeks. And I know you're not good with sentimental crap like remembering anniversaries. Hell, I never thought I'd be the type to celebrate that kinda thing either.” Dean’s calloused palms cup your cheeks as he gently pulls your head back just enough so he can peer into your eyes before continuing, “But Y/N, meeting you, being with you… baby, you've changed me.” A few of his thick fingers tenderly push at the wayward strands of your hair to tuck them behind your ear.

“Yeah, Sam mentioned something about that. You've changed me too… For one, I never thought I'd be the type of person to lose my cool and yell at innocent people who are just trying to help…” you cringe at the memory.

“Oh, I heard you nearly ate that nurse alive!” Dean laughs, a hint of pride within his tone.

“You know Sam likes to exaggerate,” you groan in embarrassment.

“Well I think it’s kinda hot.” And there’s that boyish smirk you’ve missed so much. “That you love me enough to nearly beat up a nurse.”

“Oh, shut up- wait, really?” Your eyes search his to measure his sincerity.

“Fuck yeah! Sometimes I still can't believe you're with me and it's so fucking sexy when you do things like that, that remind me how much you love me, that prove this is real,” Dean’s gaze turns sultry and he lets it drop down to your mouth for a second before tilting his head to press a soft, sensual kiss to your lips, the kind that’s impossible not to melt into. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he whispers into your skin, “Baby, I love you so fucking much.” There’s a genuine look of awe in his eyes but you can’t suppress your giggle.

“Sam might’ve also said something about that at one point.”

Dean scoffs, “The guy’s a nerd; he knows a lot of stuff. Can we please stop talking about my brother now?”

“I’m sorry, baby. You’re right, let me make it up to you.” As your fingers begin to traverse the warm expanse of his upper body, a sudden and burning need for him hits you like a freight train. It’s been much too long since you’ve touched him, felt his pulse pounding in time with your own, and held him deep inside you where he belongs.

With a mind of their own, your hands run hungrily across his firm chest, then trail down to his cushiony stomach, which you had always deemed to be the perfect combination of muscle and pudge, before finally reaching the edge of his shirt and thrusting it up to explore the skin beneath it with added fervor. “Fuck, I've missed you.” You’re practically whimpering as you dip forward to engage his sinful lips in a kiss that’s wet and sloppy but driven by a profound passion that you had never before known. “I need you,” you breathe into his ear.

“Fuck, you don't know how bad I've been wanting to hear that again,” Dean growls through gritted teeth.

“Please, Dean. _Please_. Don’t ever let me go. I need you so bad it hurts. I can't do this without you.” Your breathy whispers, though drunken with lust, carry nothing but the truth.

“I'm all yours baby.” Big hands reach up for your face again, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, “I'm not going anywhere, not without you, I promise. I’ll always come back to you… just as long as you want me to,” he adds with a self-deprecating chuckle. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean… You’re stuck with me… through heaven… and hell,” you tell him between strategic kisses that follow a path of freckles across his face, “But right now, we’ve got an anniversary to make up for.” A nibble of his earlobe and a roll of your hips gets you exactly the response you’re hoping for.

“Fuck, baby! You keep that up we won't be able to make it back to the bedroom,” Dean gasps as his pelvis juts up in a knee-jerk reaction.

“I don't think I can wait that long anyway.”

“Shit,” Dean bites down on his lower lip, before abruptly rising to his feet and spinning around with you still gathered in his arms, smirking at the sound of surprise you make. He sits you down on the table, positioning himself to stand between your legs as he nuzzles at your jaw. “You know I love the way you think, baby girl.” Your smile widens but just as you lift your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, he pauses, pulling away with a slight frown, “Wait, you are gonna move back in with me after this though, right?”

You giggle at his little pout and kiss it in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he interprets correctly, then plunges back in to press his mouth above your throat only to retreat again in the next instant, causing you to huff with impatience. “Wait, one more thing, that night, after I got shot you said ‘not like this’. What did you mean?”

You sigh and rest your forehead against his, “We’ve always known this life ends bloody, but I didn’t want you to die such a mundane death, and especially not for me. I mean, you’re Dean Winchester,” you mumble, fidgeting with the stitches on the shoulder of his flannel, “I just figured when one of us goes out, it’d be at the hands of a demon or some other monster, maybe even Death himself.”

“OK first off, I’ve told you before, I would happily die for you because you and Sammy are worth everything to me, but!” Seeing the protests already whirring in your head, Dean is quick to amend his statement, “I will do everything in my power to keep all three of us alive, because that’s how much I love you,” he supplements with swift kiss, as if to shut you up. “Second, it’s like I always say, ‘demons I get, people are crazy’, but I’m kinda glad they are because crazy is what made you agree to be mine.” 

“No, crazy is what made you take that bullet.”

Dean’s features rearrange themselves into his most adorable sturgeon face, “How can you be so sure? Maybe I knew you’d save my life and… that you’d let me thank you for it now,” he contends with a smug look before pouncing on top of you so that your back lands upon the table with a dull thud, cushioned by his thick arms beneath you. Overcome by feelings of love, desire, joy, and gratitude, your fingers reflexively lock around his neck as you stare up at him with breathless adoration.

“So you guys good now?” Sam’s head suddenly pops in through the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah Sammy, go back to your room! Y/N and I are gonna desecrate this kitchen,” Dean calls back over his shoulder.

As he quickly withdraws, Sam shakes his head and mutters, “I fix their relationship and this is the thanks I get?”

“Thanks, Sam!” you try to poke your head up around Dean’s so you can send his brother a well-deserved, grateful smile, but your man’s shoulders are just too damn broad.

“Yeah, thanks Sam!” Dean’s low voice booms as he parrots your words before adding, “But seriously, you might wanna leave the bunker.”

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles as he walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feedback always welcome! i don't know why my dean fics always turn out so intense, sorry bout that! here's some fun stuff available on [redbubble](https://www.redbubble.com/people/lexicolor/shop?asc=u&ref=account-nav-dropdown) though:
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